


Of Snow and Starlit Sparrows

by goodguymercy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meeting, Genyatta - Freeform, M/M, also backstory for the nickname little sparrow, and hey backstory, cyborg genji, idiot cyborg can't take care of himself, impatient genji, it's good trust me I'm just bad at tagging, kind of, omnic zenyatta, patient zenyatta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodguymercy/pseuds/goodguymercy
Summary: The silence of Zenyatta's mountain respite is shattered by a stranger, one who is as undeniably intriguing, as he is dangerous.





	1. Cold Night, Colder Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a birthday gift to my friend, and my first attempt at Genyatta. I hope you enjoy it, I put a lot of work into it. However, as of now I don't know how often I'll get to update.

**Winter**

         The night sky above was heavy with stars. They dusted across it’s inky blue expanse, thousands upon thousands of white specks glowing in unison. The reflection of a distant moon shimmers over the crystalline flecks of snow that covered the stone of Zenyatta's respite. He considered this to be one of the most beautiful things about the Sanctuary in which he lived. To experience the unending connection to the earth, and existing in the horizon between the clouds and the rocky peaks of the Himalayas. Since he needed little rest to function, he often found himself out on the courtyard at night, meditating or simply enjoying the cold air, and always looking to the sky.

         Something that night, however, drew his attention from the star-dotted sky and towards the plains far below his home in the mountains. Only subtle shifts in shading betrays the dark, lumpy grey mass of snow-bathed land, showing a few sparse trees and plants. Zenyatta rarely met people coming his way, even though the walls and arched roofs of his monastery were clearly visible from afar. Yet, unwaveringly, he felt there was someone watching from the shadows of the inky plains.

          While unafraid of whoever it could be, he still felt a vague sense of wonder. It'd been so long since he'd talked to another soul, going into seclusion after the death of Mondatta. The thought of his demise often left Zenyatta unable to concentrate on anything, and often reminded him of the rapidly collapsing relations between humans and omnics.

           After consideration, he leaves his perch on the stone wall surrounding the large courtyard, and enters inside the monastery. The stucco walls were bathed in the flickering light of braziers, shadows dancing with each movement of yellow fire. Weaving through the many hallways, and passing the central chamber in which burned a bright fireplace, he reaches the front doors. They were massive, formed of carved wood and gold colored rings for handles. Maybe it was stupid hope, and he was only wishing that someone was there, or maybe there was a visitor, one that he could learn from and teach. It'd been a long time since he'd had a student.

           Releasing a determined sigh, Zenyatta’s hand grips tightly onto the ring, and tugs. With a groan from the heavy panel, it yawns open. A few flakes of snow rush in, the high mountain wind whipping the newfallen dust into the air. He waited a few minutes, watching the snow drift lazily by. In the pale blue moonlit scene nothing stirred, the only movement remaining wind tossed flakes. Once he realized there was no one out in the snow he reluctantly began to close the door.

          Through the sliver of view left by the partially closed door, a distant flash of green catches his eye lower down the mountain. He stops in his tracks, and then tentatively opens the door yet again. The light was gone a second later, and he watched for another sign before wandering quietly into the soft white carpeting the ground. He didn't even close the door behind him as he took off down the snowy trail, towards the place he swore he saw green.

          Almost falling into the thick coating of powder on the ground, the omnic stops when he reached the rocky outcrop he'd seen the light pass. There was nothing more than an uneven, muddied trail left by someone struggling through the snow. Even as he glanced around, searching dark corners and behind rocks and in crevices, there was no soul to claim the messy footpath.

         A soft fluttering alerts him to his right, and with a glance he notices a single brown sparrow had settled on the naked branch of a scraggly bush. It's small body trembled in the cold, and Zenyatta looked on in wonder that such a tiny, lost bird had made its way into the frozen cold mountains. The omnic doesn't move, afraid to scare off the small creature. It shakes, head dipping and wings spreading in cautious practice. Chirping twice, it looks directly at him and then takes flight, shaking snow free from the thin branches. Zenyatta watched it go, eyes following the uneven up and down of its flight until it disappears from his view.

      With confusion and a whimsical sense of understanding, Zenyatta turns toward his home higher in the mountain. While no one had been outside, at least he was able to see something living in the arid, frozen mountain landscape. That was enough to give him a little hope.

     The moment of peace was shattered as something collides hard with his midsection, sending him crashing into a nearby rock. The forceful impact left him dazed, in a messed heap at the foot of stone he’d crashed into. A faint shine of metal barely alerts him to the presence of a sword coming at him before he rolls away. The blow lands next to him, scraping the rock and sending a few stray sparks into the dark sky. Whoever attacked him was fast, more so than anyone Zenyatta had encountered. The monk barely managed to catch glimpses of him as he shimmered out in and out of his view.

       Somehow, as swift as he was, his movements were not coordinated, even though Zenyatta could tell they should be. His form was clumsy, the blade in his hand coming down at the wrong angle and a second too slow at times. Zenyatta managed to dodge them easily enough, feeling the air shiver past with hair’s thin distance between his metal and the faint green of the sword. He falls back, creating enough distance to propel himself into the air. Levitating a few meters above the cold ground, he sends volley of orbs at the swordsman. They fly swiftly, glinting in the starlight, until they collide into the metal chestplate of the assailing man, almost sending him careening over the edge of the mountain. Zenyatta was now fully recovered, posture rigid and upright, prepared for action. The attacker struggles up, and once finally able to see him clearly, the monk is confused. The man was obviously robotic, but quite different from any of the omnics he’d seen before.

         His body was formed to resemble a human man’s musculature, each plate cut precisely to give the attacker an image of bodily perfection. Several luminous rings of green decorated his metal, some trailing down the etched form of his breastplate and others dotting his sizable shoulders. The broad span of his chest tapers down into slim hips that connected to strong, powerful thighs plated in muddied white armor. Trailing behind him is a strip of shimmering black fabric connected to his helmet.

         Releasing an almost feral grunt, he launches himself back at Zenyatta. Prepared this time, the monk sends a single orb towards the attacker's head. It collides roughly, a hollow, sharp sound echoing across the rocks. A piece of something goes flying off the armor, and he lands with a thud into the ground, facing away from Zenyatta. He doesn't move, laying still in a ravaged pile of rocks and snow. Silence permeates the air, until Zenyatta relaxes and cautiously floats towards the unmoving form. His legs fold out from under him, hovering gracefully above the ground, slim, pointed feet inches from the powdered earth. Zenyatta steps softly into the snow, kneeling to look closer at the person who’d attacked him. With tentative slowness, he extends his fragile arm, and grips softly onto the shoulder of his white armor. Once he was rolled over to face him, Zenyatta gasps slightly.

         The man’s face is flesh, the soft yellow-pink tissue of human skin. The sallow surface is terribly scarred, pink lines rippling over the arch of his cheekbones and slim, defined nose. His eyes are closed, almond shaped and ringed by long black lashes that blanket his cheeks in the blue moonlight. Zenyatta looks on in silent curiosity, at the man both human and robotic. While the mechanical side of him appeared to be functioning well, the organic wasn't. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his supple lips were pale and cracked. From what Zenyatta could tell about human health, he appeared to be dehydrated, probably malnourished and running on too little sleep. Even though he’d just assaulted Zenyatta, it was most likely out of confusion. That leaves the kindly monk with a blossoming feeling of compassion, one that couldn’t leave the cyborg out in the cold, dangerous or not.

     

 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

           

           Dragging the unconscious man back to the monastery had been easy with the use of Zen’s orbs, and he’d settled him on a blanket close to the fireplace to warm up. He even stored the detached mask and long, arched sword safely in another chamber, wrapped in fabric. Zenyatta found himself  unable to stop watching the firelight play about the stranger’s features. He looked vulnerable, lips parted as the monk poured warm vegetable soup between them. Zen had made the soup immediately after he was sure the cyborg was safe, using the hardy vegetables he’d grown during the summer in his garden. He didn’t eat, being an omnic, but the garden was something he treasured, located off to the side of the courtyard. Slowly the man takes the soup, mouth moving languidly to accept it. He wasn’t entirely awake, his dark-rimmed eyes remaining closed.        

          A faint cough causes Zen to stop ladling the soup, and fully awakens the man below him. His eyes shift open, their color a startlingly warm dark brown. He looks confusedly up at Zenyatta, and his large hand brushes softly against the slim metal joint of the monk’s wrist. The touch sends an odd shiver through his body, igniting a foreign feeling within him.

          As soft and pleasant the touch had been, it doesn't last long before a haunted, cornered look returns his brown eyes, and he suddenly jolts away from Zenyatta. The man retreats, pressing himself tightly against the wall beside the fireplace. His chest heaves, breaths sucked in sharply as his eyes dart around to the shadows of the dark monastery.

          “You're safe here, stranger.” Zenyatta places the ladle back in the bowl beside him, his hands then resting clasped in his lap. “You don't need to be afraid, I can help you.” He says, voice low and convincing.

          “I don't want your help.” His voice is scratchy and unused, heavy with a Japanese accent. He still sat huddled against the wall, dark eyes sizing Zenyatta up in the faint orange firelight.

          “I do not think it matters very much if you want it. You need my help. Your human half is not…” Zenyatta doesn't get to finish what he was saying before the man in up on his feet, swaying unsteadily, but still glaring down at him.

         “I'm not human!” His words are angry, full of bitterness and from what Zenyatta could see, denial.

         Tilting his head in question, Zenyatta rises to stand closer to the stranger’s height. He comes barely up to his shoulders, but the monk is unafraid. If the man still wanted to kill him, he would've done it while Zenyatta was feeding him the soup.

        “I'm afraid that's untrue. A part of you is, and you are quite visibly unable to take care of it. You can leave, if you wish. But I'm offering you a place to rest before, and perhaps some nourishment to keep you going.”

        He looks suspiciously at Zenyatta, brows pinched in indecision. His lips form a thin line, before opening to answer him.

        “I don't need your help.” He says flatly, hands curling and uncurling into fists.

        “Perhaps. All I ask is that you stay one night. Gain your strength and, should you wish to, leave in the morning.” Zenyatta dips his head placatingly, slim hands gesturing to the building around them. Zenyatta was patient, more than willing to wait through his stubbornness.

         “I'll eat, but I'm not staying. As I said, I don't need your help.”

         He doesn't say another word, instead cautiously edging his way towards the bowl of soup on the ground. Zenyatta steps aside, giving the man a wide berth to approach the warm liquid. Once close enough, he dives for the soup and takes it back to the place he'd stood before, this time crouching. He drinks it almost angrily, not taking a single breath until the bowl was empty, all the while eyeing him with suspicion. Zenyatta watches him back curiously, unable to completely understand the actions of the cyborg who'd quite literally crashed into his life.

         Once done, he puts the bowl down gently, settling with one leg outstretched on the stone floor, the other bent with his arm resting on it. His eyes capture Zenyatta’s and hold for a long second. Emotions play about his face, ones that Zenyatta could recognize, and others that remained a mystery. Zenyatta then breaks the tense silence, kneeling back on the floor to avoid looking down at him.

          “What is your name, stranger?” He speaks low, as if to avoid scaring him away, like the lone sparrow in the snow.

          “Genji.” He says roughly, wiping a small bead of soup from the corner of his mouth.

         “A hopeful name.” Zenyatta muses, brushing his metal fingers against his opposite forearm. “I am Zenyatta.”

         Genji doesn't reply to that, face stoic and unflinching. Despite his scars, he looked coldly beautiful in the orange glow of the now fading fire. The monk remains unphased by his appearance, pressing forward in an attempt to help him.

         “You are welcome here, but I will not force you to stay if you wish to go. Your mask and sword are in the room down that hall.” He points. “There is also a bed, should you decide to stay. I hope to see you in the morning, Genji.”

          With that, he turns and walks towards his room on the opposite side of the monastery. He barely catches the look of confusion on Genji’s face before he is in the darkness of a hallway, leaving him alone to make his decision. There was no way to force it, it had to be Genji’s own choice or it wouldn't result in anything productive. Despite this, Zenyatta secretly prays that Genji would decide to stay. It had been a long time since another soul graced his sanctuary with their presence, and for some reason, he was drawn to the tortured character like a moth to a flame.

          He just hoped that, unlike the sparrow, Genji wouldn't disappear into the night, swallowed by the darkness as if he'd never existed.


	2. Oscillation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, I don't know how to not write angst. Honestly, I don't know where I'm going with this but I hope it's good.

           Genji didn't quite know why he decided to stay. It might've been that he was tired, far too exhausted from his running to face walking back out into the cold. Or, it could have been that the small monk who'd defeated and then promptly saved him was undeniably intriguing. Either way, he found himself alone in the chamber, firelight flickering  over the edges of the dark hallway Zenyatta had disappeared into.

           His face screwed up in confusion, the feeling of warm air running over the scarred skin odd for some reason. It dawns on him with a sinking feeling that he wasn't wearing his mask, and hadn't been for quite some time. His hand shakes slightly, fingers brushing hesitantly over the surface of his cheek. It was an odd reaction, both on his face and his hand, as the sensory modules connected to his spine pick up a static  sensation, as if everything was covered in a thin layer of electricity.

            A lump forms in his throat, and he grinds his teeth together before abruptly stealing towards the room Zenyatta had said his mask was in. It was at the far end of the dark hall, the open doorway faintly glowing from the light of a few candles. A tight feeling constricts his chest, making his body slightly tremble as he breathes erratically.  He had to get the mask back on. Every step felt like he was moving through water, entirely too slow as the black hallway seemed to yawn forever before him. Time didn't seem to catch up until he was tearing open the cloth laying on the bed, and latching the dented mask back onto his face.

            He rests on the lumpy bed, breathing finally evening out once he was no longer in the open, his pale, vulnerable skin now hidden behind the metal. His chest pulses slowly, sucking in deep, and he finally relaxes his jaw, the muscles aching from how tightly he had clenched it.

            Without giving it much thought, he lays down on the thin mattress, sheathing his sword before doing so. The bedframe creaks under the sheer weight of his metal armor, and his legs have to bend to be able to fit on the short length, but it was better than anything he'd had in a long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept more than an hour, let alone on a bed.

           For a long time he watches the candles flicker and dance on the stand next to the bed, his eyes beginning to ache, drooping beneath the mask until he can no longer force them to stay open. Finally he gives in, letting sleep wrap him in dark, forgiving arms.

 

* * * * * * *

 

           His eyes opened to the sight of the candles burned out, the wax stiff and cold. Warmth surrounded him, as if he were floating on a sleepy, peaceful cloud high in the sky. It was a feeling he barely recognized, one that he could only remember experiencing long before Overwatch, and the subsequent destruction of his family.  Long before he'd found himself wandering desolately across the world in search of… something.

           A large, warm blanket covered him, the material brushing pleasantly against his metal body. Some deeply reserved part of him wanted to grab handfuls and run them along the scarred skin of his face, to feel it's actual texture, not just the one sensed by cybernetics. He of course resists the urge, instead sliding his fingers across the patterned fabric, circling the many loops that covered it's design. He comes to a stop over his hip, his finger resting on the center of a swirl. Releasing a heavy sigh, he finally allows himself to let go of the tension in his body for the first time in a long time.

             He eventually rises from the mattress, it's wooden base creaking with indignation under his weight. The blanket that covered him rolls down to pool around his slim waist, his torso rotated slightly to see pale sunlight coming in through the door. While he was well rested and comfortable, he still surveyed the room with a suspicious eye, glancing at every corner before tossing off the blanket and standing to wander out into the hallway.

            The smell of something salty and warm wafts through the air as he silently creeps towards the main chamber. It intermingled with the scent of yeasty bread, the combination causing a slight yearning ache in his stomach. It was easy to resist, after all he'd been fine without eating for a long time before. The soup from the night previous had been a momentary failure, falling back on human habits.

           Once inside the central room, he realized he wasn't alone. Standing next to the fireplace, stirring a small pot of noodles was Zenyatta. He hadn't yet noticed that Genji entered the room, his sad, slanted eyes focused on the food in front of him. He worked with precision, adding a few sliced vegetables and strips of what Genji assumed were meat to the pot. On the raised half of the room, a low, small table sat prepared with an empty bowl and cup, a fresh pot of tea steaming next to them. Two cushions sat on opposite sides of the table, evidence that Zenyatta probably expected to be joining him.

            “You're finally awake.” Zenyatta says, without looking at him. The blue lights on his forehead glow slightly, and Genji remembers waking to see his face,  thinking they were stars plucked right from the sky to be placed upon his crown.

            At this point, Genji had no idea what to say to him. He had made his own choice to stay, yet faced with the yearning eyes of the omnic in front of him, he couldn't find the words to tell him why. Mostly because he didn't quite know himself. Zenyatta doesn't wait long for a reply, continuing to talk with his calm, steady voice.

           “You've been asleep for two days. It was a pleasant surprise to see you still here on the first morning.” He looks over at Genji then, his posture becoming relaxed, almost as if expressing humor. “I don't often get visitors, you see.” He laughs softly, the sound oddly comforting and sweet to Genji’s ears.

           Genji swallows, walking over to a cushion and sitting to face Zenyatta. He doesn't say anything yet again, forcing the monk to make much of the conversation.

          “Forgive me if this isn't very good… I don't quite know how food tastes. In fact, I had to buy much of this from a nearby village while you slept.” His gaze finds Genji’s face, seeming to tear away the mask and look right at him. “I was happy to see you hadn't left during my absence.”

          He surveys the cyborg, his thin arms crossed over the metal of his chest. The orbs he'd used to break away Genji’s mask hovered in a tight circle around his neck, shivering with anticipation. He looked so delicate, Genji realized, his dark eyes following the soft shape of Zenyatta’s pants up to the slim, almost feminine waist ringed by a thick red belt. The part that distracted the warrior the most, was the sharp frame of his collarbones, the slight rods of metal looking fragile as they arched from his crossed arms.

          “It's fine. I won't be eating anyway.” Genji gruffly says, crossing his own arms awkwardly over his chest as he refuses to meet Zenyatta's gaze.

          “You'll need to keep your strength up, Genji. I don't want you to become sick like you were when you arrived. I may be an omnic, but even I can see that you need to take care of the part of you that is human.” His arms drop to his sides, fingering the material of his pants in frustration.

          “I already told you, you fool. I am not human. Stop treating me like something that I'm not!” Genji stands up yet again, posture menacing as he towered over Zenyatta, even from their distance apart. Who was Zenyatta to tell him what he should and shouldn't be doing? He'd survived fine without him, and he could do it again if he had to.

           The next words out of Zenyatta were stern, however calm and not raised a single octave from before. His  patience annoyed Genji, who couldn't understand why he wasn't at all cross with him.

          “I am not a fool, Genji. You are human, at least part of you is, and you cannot just neglect that.” He sighs, hand gesturing close over his chest. “I can't presume to know why you vehemently defend your robotic identity, but I know that I can't let you kill yourself because you are too stubborn to simply care for your well-being.” Zenyatta stands up, walking surefooted towards the bristling cyborg.

           “Please, Genji. Listen to me, I know…” His hand comes to rest reassuringly on Genji’s arm, who shrugs it away, backing up until he bumped into the low table behind him.

           “You don't know anything about me! You don't know what it's like to be torn in two and put back together as if it makes up for everything! You can't possibly know what it's like to be this… inhuman thing.” Genji spat, his hands coming to grab forcefully onto the slim metal of the monk’s arm. He tries to ignore how breakable Zenyatta’s forearm felt, a stark contrast from the strength Genji knew he possessed.

           “You're right. I couldn't possibly know what it's like to be you. But I do know that you're on a path that will only lead to you getting hurt. Just... let me help you, Genji.”

            Zenyatta’s voice is still as calm as ever, not an ounce of anger permeating the hopeful words he spoke. He doesn't struggle against Genji’s grip, eyes staring ever so sadly up into the green strip of Genji’s visor. Genji releases his arms, letting them remain hovering close to his breastplate before the omnic ashamedly draws them back up against his own chest.

           “I don't want your help, nor do I need it.” He speaks in a low voice, eyes wandering over Zenyatta’s form as if to take in everything about the monk, and sear it into his memory.

           Facing away from Zenyatta, he walks towards the door. Each step made it harder to ignore the silent plea to stay echoed within the omnic’s posture. His hand hovers in an attempt to reach out and call him back, but it drops, clasping with his other to rest calmly over his midsection.

          “I hope to see you again, little sparrow.” Zenyatta murmurs, with a sad smile echoed by his voice, head dipping in a silent goodbye.

          Genji glances back, confused as to why he'd called him little sparrow, and equally confused because he'd liked the familiarity that it carried. Shaking his head, he pulls open the door and walks back into the snow, taking a last glance at the delicate, kind monk he was leaving. Leaving because it was easier to run than to face the feelings Zenyatta stirred within him.

 

 * * * * * * *

        

       The wind tore into him, whipping snow into a tumultuous cloud that buffeted Genji with every step. He couldn't remember how long he'd been walking through the snow storm after leaving the safety of the monastery. He couldn't even see the path in front of him for much of the time, having to cling to the rock face to avoid a misstep that would lead to falling on the rocks far below.

           When he reached what he assumed was halfway down the mountain, the hunger returned. The gnawing pain in his gut that started to remind him of his human standing, of the weakness that the tried desperately to distance from himself. He knew Zenyatta was right, he was stubborn, but not stupid. He should accept what he was, but that meant delving into repressed emotions he'd kept buried since the start of his time in Overwatch. Emotions that even he wasn't quite ready to face alone.  

          Collapsing in the crevice created by two large rocks, Genji curls up, drawing his calves close to his thighs until he made himself as small as he could be. It was a feeling he sometimes needed, to be small, unlike the towering muscle-bound weapon he was. He breathes slowly, ignoring the few stray snowflakes that find their way into the vague safety of the slim alcove he huddled in. His eyes follow the path of the snow whipping past the bright crack of the entrance, the ever-flowing mass of white rippling from the wind. He wishes he never left Zenyatta. Something about his calm nature and sad eyes and star-dotted forehead called to him, as if there was a profound magnetism that shivered in response to his absence.

         His eyes close but for a second, and he fights the warmth in his cheeks and behind his lids. That was something he couldn't allow himself to do, cry over the soft laugh and delicate hands he could picture so clearly. An ache blossoms in his gut, no longer because of hunger, but because Zenyatta had cared for him even though he had no right to. Because that monk had seen him as a person, not a weapon, robot or even human, he'd seen him as an individual. Ever so softly, his hands brush together, remembering the feeling of Zenyatta’s arms, and picturing how they would’ve felt before he was a cyborg.

_Little Sparrow…._

         Before he could convince himself otherwise, he was tearing out of the crevice, barreling into the snow. It didn't matter if he was tripping over rocks, practically blinded by snow and caked in mud, there was something about Zenyatta that called to him, colored a shimmering orange as it curled around his chest and gave him hope. In that moment, nothing would stop him from finding that monastery and Zenyatta, because for a reason almost unknown to him, the patient monk had niggled his way into Genji’s thoughts, and he was determined to understand why.

         Once he was in front of the door, once his decision to come back was concrete, he felt vaguely apprehensive. Sure, it made sense to stay with Zenyatta, he seemed to have good intentions and was only ever helpful. Yet there he was, stuck with an unerring will to stay, one that wasn’t just based in practicality. Pushing down the curiosity that threatened to make him over analyze his actions, he opens the door. Wind wafts in his wake, fluttering the strip of fabric on his helmet in lazy arches. He notices Zenyatta crouched next to the fire, sitting on a small cushion, back arched over the book in his lap. Unhurriedly, he looks up from the book he had been reading, sliding an attached ribbon in between the pages and then closing it off to the side.

         Genji pads over to him, extending a hand nervously to help him up. Zenyatta accepts it tentatively, his slim hand fitting perfectly with Genji’s. An almost silent gasp leaves him when he accidentally bumps into the large span of Genji’s chest, the entirety covered in mud dried in some spots and wet in others. They stand close, so close the omnic could feel a vague sense of heat coming off the taller man.

        “You were right.” Genji mumbles into the tense air, unable to express the confusion within himself.  It wasn’t so much of a confirmation as it was a release of responsibility, passing the baton to someone Genji deemed worthy of respect.

         The omnic looks to the floor, his tense shoulders softening with relief. When he gazes back up at Genji, his posture had changed, becoming almost happy. The orbs floated softly around his neck, now in a little wider of a ring as they hover expectantly. He laughs sadly, the sound tugging at a part of Genji that he’d thought was lost.

  
          “I offered help, and that offer still stands.” He says, taking in the muddy, scratched appearance of his armor. “How about we get you cleaned up? Then we will determine what comes next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, and feel absolutely free to comment or ask me questions.


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